


Deliverance

by bulletandsophia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Found Moments, Intimacy, POV Jon Snow, Romance, Slow Burn, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletandsophia/pseuds/bulletandsophia
Summary: This time fearlessly. This time, truthfully.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 101





	Deliverance

**Author's Note:**

> so many inspirations but this one in particular was by the lovely twitter pic set by aly (@isleofgods)

[View the pic set [here](https://twitter.com/isieofgods/status/1199576179985928193?s=21)]

  
Later, Jon will still evidently wonder about the events of last night. Or the way her hair smelled and the way she smiled. The cold of the morning, the one that welcomed him now after departing her apartment, did not scare him. The jacket too seemed snug enough to compensate on the loneliness that instead traversed his skin, a product of the few words she had always failed to utter the morning after their rendezvous. Gods, how he wished she had said it, how he wished he could have devoured it, even for just a short breath.

_Stay, Jon._

She should have said it.

 _Stay_.

And he would too. Without any hesitation, without any preambles, he would stay. Whatever she had asked for, he would give. Theirs was a story told so many times under the guise of a Samson, a Delilah, an Elizabeth, a Fitzwilliam Darcy. Perhaps, it could’ve been told in other sorts of poems or stories of the most tragic kind. It sounded pitiful and foolish. A child’s play. A futureless prose with too many consequences to face. But the idea of veering away, of letting her go, was so astonishing it seemed like a joke. For it would have been far more cruel to escape this narrative than to have never made sense of what was going on between them. _Hey, lover_ —but she had said this to him once, twice, and then last night, a whisper in his ear under the glimmering and golden lights of the charity ball, her dress reaching the tips of her toes, the skirt gliding with her every move; the champagne glasses chinking and the laughter ringing all around the ballroom.

Last night, the world was theirs for the taking, while their fingers touched on his knees, away from the gaze of the curious crowd, and of their feet that tangled underneath the round table. Jon knew the moment her lips parted and he took her in—all of her and the secrets and the glories from within—as they hid away in an alcove and ran the halls like teenagers, barely escaping staff and personnel, and then finally to his car to drive away, _he wanted her_. He wanted her for all the wrong and the right reasons. The scenario was simple enough in his head. The moment, as straightforward as it could be. But Sansa, _his Sansa_ , was not. Nor could she ever be.

And he wouldn’t have her any other way.

Still, the quiet of the city in these early hours were sobering. Jon looked around to the tepid street and to the people opening up their bakery and wondered, would she have gotten a bagel for breakfast? For all that he had known her all his life, her rituals in the mornings were still a mystery. And at this point, clutching his hands in his coat pockets, he desperately wanted to know. Desperately wanted to witness everything. In his mind he knew, if only they spent the night at his place, for sure—and he was damned sure for some time now—that he would have asked her. For breakfast, for coffee, for five or ten minutes more with him on the bed. Just enough so he could confess. Just so he could end the charade and begin with her again.

This time fearlessly. This time, truthfully.

Was she as bothered by their parting as he always was? Was she now pacing around in her room, still dressed in her ball gown from the night before, wondering, asking… what if he had indeed stayed? It would cross the so many lines they tried not to ever cross (but he did, oh, he already did) in the face of the so many people that surrounded them. She was his best friend’s little sister, the golden girl of the Stark clan, precious to the eyes of Ned Stark and Catelyn Stark, the ideal daughter-in-law to the eyes of his father and _the_ childhood sweetheart to the knowledge of his mother. He knew that the moment lines crossed, it would be complete chaos. For the good, the bad? He was not sure.

Not that it mattered. For he didn’t want Sansa Stark for the certainty of it. He wanted her in the exact opposite—unpredictable, passionate, erratic and almost volatile that she only emanated life. A life that will keep on giving and a life that he would no doubt give back.

A plan had been forming in his head for months now. In the quietness of the night after their lovemaking and she slept but he couldn’t for the sheer reason that he didn’t want it to end, for when the sun comes up, she’d quietly smile, stand and then pick up her discarded clothes—as he’d do so as well—and walk to the bathroom with a resounding click of the lock.

In those moments with her in the bath, he daydreamed of scenarios on how it could never end, of how he need not leave her room and simply wait for her to re-emerge—despite it being the time for him to literally depart the premises, leaving pieces of himself scattered around the spaces in between, the way she did so too in his flat. Perhaps he could start with Robb, confessing finally and asking for his blessing. For all he knew, Robb Stark was far more protective than Ned. Catelyn would not have minded too as long as she never ever got to know of these ongoing trysts. The other children would be of no problem whatsoever. They loved Jon and Jon loved them so. His parents, Arthur and Lyanna would only be delighted for finally, their only son was thinking of settling down—and to a Stark girl, too.

It was almost too perfect to be real. Too ideal. So perhaps the fault laid on the thrill that would be lost once the truth was out. That this secrecy was the foundation of what he had with her. A secret that once divulged could change the rest of it all. He had tried to say it so before, if not vaguely, and it was as if fate truly wasn’t on his side on this regard.

“Your parents are deeply in love.” he began in the midst of a cocktail party in Ned and Catelyn’s honor.

Beside him, Sansa rolled her eyes. “Gross.”

“My parents are in love too.” he then pointed to the slow-dancing Arthur and Lyanna.

 _“True_.”

He looked at her once while sipping from his wine glass, then he took a step closer and whispered, “So are you.”

Sansa glanced towards him, eyes big and unprepared at his nearness. She tried to back away but Jon held her first and until her cheeks grew redder and his breath shorter. He leaned in, still grasping, wanting the message to come across clearly albeit softly it felt like feather on his lips.

“ _And so am I_.”

Her mouth began to part as he took another breath, but Rickon Stark started to wail in the background when one of the cousins broke his handheld game console.

“I need to go.” she only muttered, moving away from his hold and from the rare intimacy outside their respective bedrooms. An opportunity like so never rose again and the memory was buried way too deep to even merit a small talk.

A prayer, Jon asked now, crossing past bookshops and stores that only reminded him of Sansa. A prayer to answer all of his fears. A sign to answer all of his doubts. And by some miracle it happened today, he won’t ever let her go again. Not in this way. Not when mornings like this looked so ever hopeful and lovely what good would it do if he was not sharing it with her?

His apartment felt as somber as he was when he arrived. There was a pallid sort of sense in his surroundings it urged Jon to slid his windows open to let the fresh air in, pulling a soft chair to sit on and gaze at the wakening city below. A view of a thunderstorm would’ve been better in his opinion if only to partner with his heavy heart. The pitter-patter of rain to match his pulse, the water to cleanse away the pains of their goodbyes. Nevertheless, he can stay put in here for days until he knew how to finally end all of this agony. He can give her a call but the truth did not deserve words simply crossing phone lines and signals and with voices that could falter.

No, he needed to do something better. He needed to do something grand. Something tangible. Something that can finally crush the boundaries.

He needed a gesture—a brave step.

No, a motion— _a decision._

For surely, as it ate him deeply now, ironically dawning on him like the sun on this lovely morning, regretting perhaps of his cowardice over the years, it could have been as easy as _this_. Jon closed his eyes because of his certain disbelief and foolishness. He should’ve done it long ago, he should’ve been stubborn about it; could have been more relentless and challenged her decisions too. He could have made Sansa his sooner and not this later. He could have, he could have, and now he would.

Renewed, he stood and grabbed his coat, aware of the time being wasted. He rummaged his pockets for his phone to at least get a hold of her and hurriedly opened his apartment door. But what welcomed him was a fragrance so familiar he didn’t need to think twice to whom it belonged to for he would not so easily mistake it for any other. Instead, he immersed in the shock now quite throbbing painfully on his chest as soon as he lifted his eyes up.

“Hey, lover.”

Jon could cry.

He took her in. Coat over the gown she wore last night, lips still pouty and pink from all the kisses he’d given, hair in elegant disarray, cheeks flushed and glowing and almost wanting.

Sansa. His Sansa.

His face crumbled at the reality of her in his door he almost choked on the words he cannot utter.

“I… uhm…” she started again amidst his fumbling. But Jon shook his head, not allowing any discomfort to shadow her now. She was here, unpredictable as she always was, and that was all that mattered.

“Sansa,” Jon said so finally, hands trembling in excitement, in fear—perhaps this was some bad joke. But no, she did not disappear.

“Were you going somewhere?” she asked, a flash of doubt, of reluctance. Jon hated how it painted on her face.

But yes.

Yes.

Yes.

 _Yes_.

He was going somewhere.

“I shouldn’t have left your apartment.”

Her smile almost killed him then and there. She finally released a breath, lifting a bag of pastries and a holder with two cups of coffee. Without even asking—and no, she did not need to ask any permission for this place, this apartment, was hers too from now on—he watched her strode the threshold (and gods this time coming in and not out) and gently kissed the corner of his mouth; his soul.

Her lips stayed closed to his, nudging her nose softly to his cheek. And like an answered prayer, she asked almost as shyly as he would, as he had planned once he reached her door.

“ _Can I stay, Jon?_ ”

* * *


End file.
